A Room Of Our Own!

Medieval Times

Customers pay for the dinner and show on a single ticket; after purchasing, they gather for pre-show entertainment outside the venue at a “castle”. Each castle has a capacity of between 1,000 and 1,400 patrons.

Upon admission, patrons are seated at tables encircling a large indoor arena, in which the performing knights engage in jousting as well as sword fighting and individual and equestrian skill games.

Note the different color lights in my first picture. Also everyone gets a paper crown the same color of their knight.

“The house is divided into six sections, each assigned a different color, and the audience members are encouraged to cheer for knights who wear the same color (an authentic nod to traditions of courtly love).”

As people enter they are assigned a seating color and table number. Some how they are able to track you down and solicit twenty dollars for the photo that you were coerced into taking at the door with the king or princess. There is no getting by it, really. Ten years ago, it was the king and queen. Incidentally, that little change greatly annoyed my feminist sensibilities. Because even though the plot was never equal to Thomas Malory’s, it was more tolerable than this princess made fuckavailable for the winning knight nonsense. Now the queen is erased, absent, nowhere to be seen. And the Princess’s valley girl accent must go. It was particularly grating because not only was it my first time with the Princess as part of the plot, we were seated in the green section in the very first row in the very first seats which means we were right next to the thrones. It did give me the opportunity to observe the anachronic boots on the trumpet blowers (I searched this list and could not find the official name for trumpet blower). I was so entertained with his boots that I snapped a picture.

This trip makes my third visit, the black/white and green knight seems to be the favorite, however, this time the blue knight slipped by and won the hand of the princess after the black/white knight was killed twice and the green knight was defeated but not before a few dramatic almost dead but not quite dead yet stunts. The knights obviously intern for the WWF to learn their moves and techniques. Nevertheless, regarding dinner:

Dinner is served in courses, without eating utensils, as the audience is to eat with their hands in “medieval fashion” (historically, knives were customary; sporks knives are available at the show for those who desire).

There is no menu to choose from; a typical meal for all consists of carrots and celery with ranch dip, vegetable soup, garlic bread, bone chicken, one potato, one rib,a varied pastry, and Pepsi, iced tea, beer and/or coffee. It differs from a Medieval kingly feast, with the potato, Pepsi, and coffee being especially anachronistic. Dinner and show are designed to last two hours.

Perhaps the two times I went before I was just happy to be going and allowed myself to be caught up in the fun or maybe I am getting old because this time I saw it so differently. At times the show stalled, was too contrived, and cartoonish. Instead of being on the sides I was at the vertical head therefore I think I saw the mechanics of the stunts, for example, I saw a knight jump off his horse about five feet after he was supposedly knocked off of it. At times, the buffoonery was so funny I thought I was going be asked to leave for laughing so loud and long. Fortunately, the green section had more than its share of drunks, so I think I was drowned out by their super bowl tailgate like antics. I know one drunk had to be hoarse that night. We had fun though, far more than at a place like Disney Land for one reason alone, the employees were very nice and service oriented, even if they were out for every dime in my lady’s pocket.

By the way, the restroom needed some care, it was horrid. Apparently, someone was not too happy with the Red Knight’s performance. Note the red crown in the wet floor!

Last year at the Renaissance Festival(TM) in our neck of the woods, I stuck around for the jousting. I was amazed at how hard those folks get smacked around, even if it is a show. I love the horses, too. At our version, there were princesses, but they were more the “bawdy wench” (TM) type and had some by-play where they ended up smacking the knight around. No “medieval meal” although that option was available for a hefty fee. I know it is overpriced and all that, but I remember the first one I went to, way back in the 70s when it was much more low rent, and how absolutely enthralled I was, so I love taking my daughter and her friends. Last time, they all dressed up. I know we have some kind of medieval veil headdress lying around the house somewhere, as well as a unicorn stick-horse.

Chris, two adults and one child was $112. That is of course before anything from the gift shop, photos, or drinks (pre show), drinks are included during the show, but only Pepsi and beer I think, anything else one would have to pay extra. But we got a discount, so I think at the door the total without discount would be around $130. I checked their website but I could not find a listing. Keep your eye out for discounts though. We bought our tickets last summer. They are strict about reservations however, very.

Joannao and Prof Z, I went to two Renaissance Festivals when I was 13 and 14 years old. They were wonderful. It was mostly vendors, but there were shows, and turkey legs, and cornish hen, and salt in burlap sacks, and the pretty flowers that go around one’s head. But when I had planned to go to another one when I was in my mid-twenties it seemed to be very corporate like and I decided not to go. I know it is about making money but I hate the whole treating the consumer like cattle aspect of it all.

Comments are closed.

The Reviews Flow In:

The fun-est and sanest place on the internet!

AROOO: "... no blowjobs..."

"AROOO: A blog where women are not called bitches, any form of cunt, or contaminated." ---TFKG

“AROOO: A blog far too principled to be popular.” ---Anonymous

“AROOO, too sexy for AROOO!”---The judges of, "What is sexy."

“Ye miserable, crawling worms, are ye here again, then? Have ye come like Nimshi, son Rehoboam, secretly out of yer doomed houses to hear what’s comin’ to ye? Have ye come, old and young, sick and well, matrons and virgins (if there is any virgins among ye, which is not likely, the world bein’ in the wicked state it is), old men and young lads, to hear me tellin’ o’ the great crimson lickin’ flames o’ hell fire?
Aye, ye’ve come,
Dozens of ye. Hundreds of ye. Like rats to a granary. Like field-mice when there’s harvest home. And what good will it do ye?
Ye’re all damned!
Damned!
Oh, do ye ever stop to think what that word means when ye use it every day, so lightly, o’ yer wicked lives? No. Ye doan’t. Ye never stop to think what anything means, do ye? Well, I’ll tell ye. It means endless horrifyin’ torment, with yer poor sinful bodies stretched out on hot gridirons in the nethermost fiery pit of hell, and demons mockin’ ye while they waves cooling jellies in front of ye, and binds ye down tighter on yer dreadful bed. Aye, an’ the air’ll be full of the stench of burnt flesh and the screams of your nearest and dearest...
Ye know, doan't ye, what it feels like when ye burn yer hand in takin’ a cake out of the oven or wi’ a match when ye’re lightin’ one of they godless cigarettes? Aye. It stings wi’ a fearful pain, doan’t it? And ye run away to clap a bit o’ butter on it to take the pain away. Ah, but’"
(an impressive pause)
"there’ll be no butter in hell! Yer whoal body will be burnin’ and stingin’ wi’ that unbearable pain, and yer blackened tongues will be stickin’ out of yer mouth, and yer cracked lips will try to scream out for a drop of water, but no sound woan’t come because yer throat is drier nor the sandy desert and yer eyes will be beatin’ like great red-hot balls against yer shrivelled eyelids....” ---Amos Starkadder, Cold Comfort Farm.

"Any time something is written against me, I not only share the sentiment but feel I could do the job far better myself. Perhaps I should advise would-be enemies to send me their grievances beforehand, with full assurance that they will receive my every aid and support. I have even secretly longed to write, under a pen name, a merciless tirade against myself."--- Jorge Luis Borges, (autobiographical essay, 1970).